


Origami Cranes

by Blithe_Novelties



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blithe_Novelties/pseuds/Blithe_Novelties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was said that if one were to make one thousand paper cranes, they would be granted any wish of their choosing. Looking back now, however, he realized it was just a childish story. Post-WWII AU Human names used Drabble. Companion fic to Planes, of the Paper Kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origami Cranes

**Author's Note:**

> A friend of mine, from Tumblr had suggested, after reading Planes, of the Paper Kind, that I do something similar from Japan's point of view, but with paper cranes instead of planes. This would be a companion read of a sort to PotPK, being another Post-WWII AU drabble using human names. Written February 17, 2012.
> 
>  
> 
> Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

The Second World War was over, and the Axis Powers had lost. Somewhere, on the other side of the world, people were celebrating the victory of the Allies, mourning the fallen soldiers who had given up their lives to help the war effort.

At least, the two sides shared something similar in common: mourning.  

When Kiku Honda had returned home to Japan, it was with a heavy heart, knowing that his side had lost the war, that thousands of his allies, of his fellows, countrymen, friends, comradeshad lost their own lives, to help the Axis. There were no revelries todaythey had not won. Those who had did would be looked upon as heroes of their home countries, yes, but there would never be a party in their honors, no bittersweet thoughts that, although they were gone, their side had won because of their assistance.

The raven haired man had recalled how he had felt about going to war: reluctant at first, to be thrown into such a violent affair and to be taken away from his beloved home; one of his first missions had placed him in one of the planes that had attacked the America Naval Base Pearl Harbor; that night he had trouble falling asleep, guilt of knowing he had sentenced who knew how many people to their deaths. He'd gotten used to it thoughhe had to, else his own life be stolen away from him because he hesitated. 

When he had heard of the Hiroshima bombings, however, the sick feeling had twisted its way into his gut once more, bringing back fresh waves of homesickness with his grief. 

Life had seemed so simple when he was younger, back when he could watch the sun set and rise, without the realization that there was someone out there who would never be able to see it again. He'd grown up now though, knowing that death, disease, warthat all of those things were a way of life; no longer could he see the pastel colors of the dawn without having his eyes start to grow misty.

Vaguely, Kiku recalled making paper cranes, his whole room covered in the colorful origami birds; he had spent hours each day making them, longing for nothing more than to reach his one thousandth one, and be granted a wish. The chocolate eyed man had reached nine hundred ninety nine of the cranes as the years accumulated, but before he could reach the desired number, he was drafted into the war. Little time was left to make any more, and his mind had always been on something more important than a foolish subject such as paper folding.

Now that he was back, howeverhe reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a piece of scrap paper, its edges torn, color dulled, and began folding it with careful, precise movements; soon, a crane sat in his hands, his one thousandth one. Perhapsclosing his eyes, he sent his greatest desire to it, that when he opened them, it would be to discover that the war had never occurred.

He pried them open, only to become crestfallen when he discovered that nothing at all had changed. 

A small sigh escaped his lips as Kiku let the wind whisk the bird away. He should have known better, the story wasn't real, that making one thousand paper cranes would never result in a wish, because such stories were simply that, stories.

Perhaps the war had changed him, but never again would Kiku believe the things his younger self had; his youth had been stolen away from him, just like the wind had with his origami crane.


End file.
